Some Pheonix Wright
by MistrBubels
Summary: Just a bit of Phoenix Wright fanfiction for those wishing to read.


"... Nice try, Mr. Wright."

That was the only noise that rang through the courtroom, as a certain spiky-headed defense attorney suddenly drooped in his seat, sweat beading at his forehead. There was either a slow shake of a head, a whip hitting the table, or the sound of a cup of coffee being downed, but whichever it was, the unfortunate lawyer knew what was going to happen.

"... This has nothing to do with the current case. I'm afraid there is no need to further prolong this verdict. The defendant is pronounced BEEP."

"E-Excuse me, your honor?" Phoenix Wright stuttered, staring up at the bearded judge. "Pronounced what?"  
"BEEP. BEEP." The judge shook his head, and slammed his gavel, as Phoenix jumped awake.

Sitting up in his bed, the 28 year old scratched the back of his head, still sweating a bit from the dream. "Huh..." He muttered to himself, looking at his bedside clock, beeping away for his morning alarm. "Looks like I forgot to shut it off before the weekend..." He muttered, shutting it off and laying back into his bed.

Although he set an alarm every day during the week, there wasn't really a point. He hadn't had anything to do, really, for about a year. It wasn't that he had lost his badge, or really messed anything up, he just hadn't had anyone request him as an attorney, and luckily, Maya had been staying out of trouble. It normally seemed that she would get in trouble every year, but this time around it seemed that she kept out of trouble.  
"It's probably because of her new master responsibilities..." Phoenix quietly said to himself, picking up his clock and looking at it. This was a gift from his former assistant, Maya Fey, a spirit medium, next in line to be the Master of the Kurain Channeling Technique. Well, not really next in line anymore; she WAS the master.

The 'Kurain Channeling Technique' is a special way to channel spirits (as used by spirit mediums of the Fey family and branch families), where their body takes the shape of the person that they're channeling, and it's really a surreal experience to see it.

Getting up from his bed, Phoenix stretched out his sore muscles and looked at himself in his mirror, his eyes dashing up to his mushed, spiky hair. "... Crap." He had forgotten to take out the gel he used to style it the night before, causing it to look like someone poured grease in his hair before shoving it into a mud puddle. Glaring into his reflection, the man walked over to his bathroom, pulling his sweater and fuzzy pajama pants off, turning on his shower to the coldest setting and stepping in, letting out a loud noise as the icy water assaulted his body.

After almost catching hypothermia in his shower, he turned it as hot as it went, causing him to let out another noise of pain, but he could feel his muscles relaxing, and his hair falling down in his eyes. Nobody really knew, since he wore it up all the time, but his hair was surprisingly long, and he could probably pull off an edgy teenager look if he wasn't so attached to his spiky-ass hair.

Getting out of the torturous shower, the only person whom this chapter talked about got ready for a day of sitting around, sharpening his ability to use a computer, and looking for cases to take.

After finishing the final touches on his perfectly-gelled hair, the tune of a phone started playing from his bed, and as he walked over and picked it up, he noticed that he got a text.  
Flipping open the obviously outdated phone, and going to his message box, he noticed that it was from a number unknown to his cellphone, it looked to Phoenix like a jumble of numbers.

'Meet me in the hotel across the street from the closed down Tres Bien, room 253 on floor 2 in 30 minutes. There's a key at the front desk, just tell the person there that you're in the mood for some burgers.'

Staring at his phone, Phoenix closed it, and glanced at his toilet. He could go, since it was a 20 minute drive from his place there, but, another important thing was that the toilet seemed in bad shape, simply begging to be cleaned.

Deciding against a 50 minute clean session, he pulled on his shoes and a coat, and walked out the door, on his way to the mysterious messager.


End file.
